


The Candidate

by Metatron



Series: The President's Big Stick [2]
Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Crubio, M/M, Obamney
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 02:49:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5400071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metatron/pseuds/Metatron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a post-apocalyptic world where Joe Biden has summoned a demon army and Mitt Romney and Barack Obama are desperately in love, a business tycoon decides to make a bid for the White House by whatever means necessary. However, from the wastes of a desolated America overrun with werewolves and demons, one hero will rise to fight back the darkness. His name?<br/>BERNIE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue-What Once Was

Joe Biden looked out upon the once-beautiful National Mall. Before, it was filled with tourists, coming to see the great symbols of American fortuity and power. In the hot summers, children would come and fly beautiful multicolored kites. In the winters, they would come and make snowmen. Now, they would make nothing. All of the monuments were cracked, and the telltale weeds had begun to weave their way into the small spaces between the marble. All of the monuments but one. What was once the Washington Monument was nowhere to be seen, purposefully demolished by Biden's own orders. It was, after all, what had caused this whole mess, and even if it hadn't been, Joe couldn't bear to look at it. The Monument had been turned into a physical symbol of Barack's betrayal of him.  _Oh yes_ , Joe thought.  _Barack made his choice, didn't he? He chose Mitt. And because of them, we are all damned._   _  
_

Most of the time, Joe tried not to let it bother him. After all, he did now have almost everything he'd ever wanted. Power, respect, a demon army under his control...and yet. Joe had thought he and Barack had had something special.

 _You're mine, Biden,_ Barack would whisper in his ear as he took him on top of the desk in the Oval Office.  _You're mine, aren't you? My running mate. My vice president. When my time is over, I'll raise you up and make them choose you as nominee. But you'll still be mine to trust, to fuck..._

Joe shivered as he remembered.  _Lies_ , he thought bitterly. He turned and walked away from the window. Joe had taken up residence in the Capitol Building partially because it was more spacious, but mostly because there were just too many bad memories in the White House. He was interrupted from his thoughts by the sound of a demon frantically running towards him.

"Lord Biden!" it called, heaving with lack of breath. Biden examined it. The demon was awkward and gangly, obviously a newbie.

"Yes? What is it?"

"The, uh, the Dark Lord Satan requires your presence! Uh, sir!" the demon stammered.

"Tell him I will be there immediately," Biden stated, in his most authoritative tone.

"Yes sir! Absolutely sir! You can count on me, sir!"

Biden raised an eyebrow. 

"Well you best get on it, then...sorry, I don't think I got your name."

"It's, uh, Marvin, sir! I mean Lord Biden! I mean, absolutely, I'm going right now!" Marvin said, while turning and bounding away.

 _Demons,_ Biden thought, shaking his head. _Should've chosen robots instead._

He spared one last glance out the window unto the National Mall, before descending into the depths of the Capitol to see what the Lord Satan wanted with him.


	2. Marco

It was early morning in the ruins of Las Vegas. The desert sun cast great shadows and reflected off the cracked windows of what once were great casinos. In the shade of the Luxor, a figure ran quickly. He clutched his semi-automatic rifle close as he darted between areas of cover. Cautiously, he made his way across the abandoned Strip, finally ducking into what was once Mandalay Bay. Although the werewolves and demons rarely attacked during the day, it served humanity's survivors to be careful. 

The man made his way through the grand entrance of the casino, wiping sweat from his brow. His name was Lieutenant Marco Rubio, of the Unified Human Resistance, North American Division. In the world before the "Incident," he had been a Senator from Florida. However after the attacks, Florida had become a radioactive zone, so Marco had taken his family and travelled north. One after another disaster occurred, eventually leaving him as the only survivor of his family. When Marco reached the Resistance camp in Vegas, he joined immediately, swearing that he would honor the memory of the ones he loved and would take vengeance. 

After all that had happened, lieutenant Rubio had never expect to find love again, and especially from someone who by all rights should have been his opponent. Yet he had, in the form of Sergeant Ted Cruz, formerly a Senator from Texas. Ted had suffered losses similar to Marco's. At first their interactions had consisted of pointed glances and passing comments, until the sexual tension had grown to the point where the other members of the camp had to practically force them together just for everybody's peace of mind. After that, Ted and Marco had never looked back.

Marco descended down a great staircase unto what used to be the casino floor. Now the Resistance used it as a main hub of command.  
"Lieutenant Rubio! Anything to report?" High Commander Carly Fiorina called to him.  
"Nothing out of the ordinary, Commander," Marco replied.  
"That's good to hear, Lieutenant," Commander Fiorina said, giving him a rare smile. "Well, I'll let you off duty now. I wouldn't want to keep you from Sergeant Cruz."  
"It's much appreciated, ma'am. I'll tell him you said hello."  
"You do that," she said, and then turned away, dismissing him.

Marco left the command floor and headed up to the tenth floor, where he and Ted shared a room. Ted worked in managing the food supplies, but his shift was during the afternoon, so most times after Marco returned from patrol Ted was still in their room.  
"Morning," Marco said, entering their room. Ted looked up blearily from the reports he was reading at the desk.  
"You're back early!" he said, getting up to kiss Marco.

"Well, there was nothing unusual on patrol, and Commander Fiorina was in a good mood today."  
Ted laughed, leaning in to kiss Marco's neck. "Thank God for that."  
"Mmm," Marco hummed, leaning into the kiss. "Busy Morning?"  
Ted glanced over at the reports on the desk with obvious disgust. "The new rations based on our most current numbers. Looks like we’ll be eating even less in the coming months.”  
Marco frowned. “And here I thought the rations were severe enough as they were.”  
“I know. It only keeps getting rougher,” Ted sighed. “But enough of that. These reports aren’t going anywhere.”  
Marco raised an eyebrow in an attempt to be seductive. “Well, in that case…”  
Ted snorted and ran a hand through Marco’s hair. “You know that I can never say no to that eyebrow, don’t you?”  
Marco just grinned wolfishly and pushed Ted back onto their bed. 

He slowly stripped off his uniform as Ted watched with interest. When he was naked, lifted himself above Ted to kiss him slowly and passionately. “Your turn, love.”  
Ted smirked up at him. “Care to help me?”  
“I do always try to help those in need,” he said, unbuttoning Ted’s shirt and undoing his belt. When he had removed Ted’s shirt he leaned down to nuzzle his belly button and the trail of hair that led down from his navel. By this point Marco’s cock was achingly hard, dripping precome unto him and Ted. Ted’s eyes were blown wide and dark with lust as he struggled to rid himself of his pants. He then lowered himself down to lick a stripe down Marco’s belly, ending at the base of his cock. Ted took the whole thing in his mouth, swirling his tongue along Marco’s length. 

“Oh,” Marco sighed, pleasure building in his cock. Ted’s head bobbed back and forth, as he slid Marco in and out of his mouth, before finally taking him all the way to the back of his throat. A burning in Marco’s belly told him that his orgasm was building, and he tried to gesture to Ted to warm him, but he refused to let go and soon Marco was coming down Ted’s throat. With anyone else, Marco would have been embarrassed to have come so soon, but something that he and Ted had quickly learned was that they brought each other off very fast. 

Marco withdrew his cock from Ted’s mouth and then reached down to stroke Ted. He started off gently, but Ted hoarsely whispered,”More,” causing Marco to lose all control and yank down on his cock.  
“Oh,” Ted groaned. “Yes.”

All it took was a few more strokes and then Ted was coming too, spilling his seed all over the two of them. Marco brought him up into a kiss and darted his tongue into Ted’s mouth, where he was able to taste the remnants of himself still on Ted’s tongue. “You’re perfect,” Marco whispered. “I can’t believe I was lucky enough to find you, with the world as it is.”

Ted smiled gently. “Sometimes I wonder if the Incident was just a blessing that allowed me to finally act on my feelings. It was horrible, and it still is, and all those people I cared about are gone, but…now I have you. You know, I would see you sometimes, in the Senate, and the only thing I could think about was how much I wanted you to know me.”  
“Did you really?”  
“Oh yes. And when you would get up to talk, God, to debate…I never heard a thing you said because all I could focus on was the way you talked with your hands, and the determination on your face…”  
Marco smiled ruefully.  
“I wonder…I wonder if the Incident had never happened, if we would ever have become what we are now. Would we have be opponents, do you think? We both were going to run for president, remember?”  
Ted thought on this, lying back to rest his head on Marco’s naked chest.  
“I don’t know. I hope we would have been allies. Even running mates, maybe.”  
“Yeah, but if we were running mates, who would be the president?”  
Ted nipped at Marco’s nipple playfully. “You, of course. You’re the more dominating one. But because you love me so much you would let me rule on Tuesdays.”  
“Only Tuesdays? I’d let you have Thursdays too, Teddy.”  
He snorted. “As if.”  
Marco pouted. “You have no faith in me at all, do you?”  
“Well…” Ted began, a mocking grin on his face.  
Marco pulled Ted into another tender kiss.  
“Shut up, you stupid idiot.”  
Ted sucked on Marco’s lip and flicked his tongue into his mouth.  
“Whatever you say, Mr. President,” Ted replied.


	3. Wanderer

He wasn’t the sort of person one would expect to survive the apocalypse, he thought. Old, not incredibly athletic, and not even particularly interested in staying alive. It would have been perfectly fine by him if he’d been killed in the initial tsunamis or bitten by a werewolf or whatever crazy ass way people were dying recently.

He had even started _trying_ to get himself killed. Except, it just wasn’t happening. He’d thrown himself off a bridge, ran unarmed into a horde of demons, slit his own throat, sat in the middle of a blazing bonfire…and nothing. He would just wake up hours later, completely intact and unharmed. At first, it had been a bit…well, incredible, not being able to die. He was immortal, or invincible at the very least, and it made it easier when he didn’t have to worry about if the water he was drinking was safe or if he had wandered into a radioactive zone. Now it was just fucking annoying. What the hell was he even living for, anyway? Anyone who he had actually given a shit about was long dead, and there wasn’t much left of civilization to care about, so what was the fucking point? Was he just expected to shamble around from one wasteland to the next for all of eternity?

He thought about these thing when he was falling asleep. He _could_ still sleep, at the very least. Being awake forever would have been damn awful. Be thankful for the little things, he thought to himself. When everything else is gone, the little things are all you’ve got.

He would sleep for as long as he possibly could, then he would gather his meager belongings and carry on traveling. Where he was going he didn’t know exactly. It didn’t really matter, he supposed. The only thing left for him to do was carry on.

Nothing left? Carry on.

He repeated this over and over in his head, and sometimes he would whisper it aloud to himself too.

Nothing left? Carry on.

When he would get killed again (or whatever the hell it was that happened to him) and then wake up, all he would say is ‘Nothing left? Carry on.’

It had become his sort-of mantra. Everybody needs a mantra, he thought. Why can’t this be mine?

When the sun would blaze down on him and make his face drip with sweat, to the point where he had to physically hold his glasses on his nose so they wouldn’t slip off, he would whisper in a hoarse voice ‘Nothing left? Carry on.’

When he wished he was dead, he would talk himself down by chanting again and again ‘Nothing left? Carry on.’

It helped. Sometimes.

Other times it was just easier to curse fucking Joe Biden and his motherfucking demon army by shouting every vulgar thing he could think of into the sky.

That helped too.

But today, as he made his way down the desert highway that shimmered with mirages, he was silent except for one single thought: vengeance. It had been occurring to him for a while now, that what better way to put his apparent immortality to use other than to take down those that had started this whole thing. He could do it. He bloody well would too.

Today, the words that he repeated over to himself were ‘My name is Bernie Sanders. I should be dead. I’m not dead. I will be the one to make you pay for what you did.'


	4. The King of New York

Donald Trump liked many things. He liked money, women, and steaks. He liked having the best company, the best followers, and the best entertainment. But most of all, he liked winning. That’s why he always made sure to pick the winning side of any fight.  
Donald’s preference for winning is what had led him to be in the company of one Joe Biden, the now overlord of America. Power begets power, and all of the power was currently Biden’s. It wasn’t that Donald liked Biden, or even particularly respected him. It was that he knew if he wanted power for himself, he would first have to befriend its keeper. Friends close and enemies closer, wasn’t that the phrase?

Donald looked out from his office on the top floor of Trump Tower. From there he could see the whole spread of Manhattan. Even before the invasion, Trump had ruled this city. Smoke rose on the horizon in the burning ruins of Brooklyn. Under his rule, Manhattan was the only place of safety for a hundred miles, and that made him King.  
Through the smoke a military chopper appeared, approaching the tower. Biden had arrived. He turned away from the New York skyline and swiped the keycard that would activate his private elevator to the roof.  
The sharp whirring of the chopper blades pierced through the brisk morning air as it came to a landing on top of Trump Tower. Trump shielded his eyes from the morning sun, approaching the chopper to greet his guest.  
“Mr. Biden,” he called out.  
Joe Biden emerged from the chopper, grinning widely.  
“Trump! How do you do?” He held out his hand.  
Donald took it in a firm handshake.  
“You know, I’m just great, what about you?” he said as he led Biden inside.  
“I’m decent enough,” Biden replied as they entered Donald’s office. Trump offered Biden a seat.  
“No demon guards today? I thought you always had at least one,” Donald said, sitting down in his huge desk chair.  
“They’re in the chopper. Right now they’d just get in the way of our conversation,” Biden replied.  
_Perfect_ , Trump thought.  
“I completely agree,” he said, his hand resting on the gun hidden in his desk.  
“So, shall we talk business?” Biden asked. “I need to ask, can I count on the Fiefdom of Manhattan’s support?”  
Donald smiled. “You know you can.”  
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Biden answered. “Because I think it’s high time we found the terrorists responsible for this whole mess. Romney and Obama must be brought to justice,”  
_Not this again. He’s too focused on revenge to even have the illusion of being a successful leader. After I’ve taken what’s rightfully mine, we can finally start to build a better world than this idiot could ever dream of._  
“Fantastic,” he replied, and then pulled his gun on Biden.  
“What?” Biden exclaimed, face contorting in shock. “What is this, Donald?”  
“Let’s call it, shall we say, a hostile takeover,” Trump said, and then shot Biden in the chest, spraying blood all over the expensive carpet. He’d have someone clean the mess up later. For now, he had to go assert his position as Overlord.


	5. Joe

Joe Biden woke up unceremoniously in a dumpster, covered in coffee grinds and blood. His head hurt, his chest hurt, basically every part of him felt like it had been fed through a compacter and then chopped into tiny pieces. He groaned. The last thing he remembered…the last thing he remembered was getting shOT THROUGH THE FUCKING CHEST BY MOTHERFUCKING DONALD TRUMP. _Oh my god. I’m dead. I’m fucking dead_.

He shifted his body and some coffee grinds fell off his head. _So this is what being dead feels like_ , he thought. Somehow he’d imagined it to be a little less…stinky. And with less banana peels. Joe tried to move his legs in order to sit up, and banged his head against the top of the dumpster. _Ow. Fuck_.

In his mind, Barack’s voice said, “Well, you can’t stay here forever, Joe. You can’t let yourself be knocked down and not get up again.” _Shut up_ , Joe thought to himself.

Slowly he rose to his feet and pulled himself up to peer over the rim of the dumpster. He was in an alleyway, in the shadow of skyscrapers he didn’t recognize. The smell of smoke filled the air and in the distance Joe thought he could make out shouts. This place didn’t seem exactly heavenly, but not exactly completely hellish either. _Not exactly how I pictured the afterlife_ , Joe thought. Though every part of him hurt like a bitch, he hoisted himself up and out of the dumpster, falling down unto the cold dirty pavement.

Joe lay there for a moment, deciding what to do. He could stay here, obviously, it wasn’t like he was going to die from hunger or anything; he was already dead. But it seemed like a waste of eternity to just lay on the pavement in some purgatorial alleyway.

“Hey, are you alright?” a voice asked, jolting Joe from his thoughts. A man in a tattered hoodie crouched down over him. He had a kind face, with big, innocent cow-eyes and a pair of glasses that were held together with bits of duct tape.

“What?” Joe mumbled, wondering how he hadn’t seen this man approach. The man pulled off his hood.

“I said, are you all right? You look like you’ve been injured.”

Joe could have sworn he’d seen the man’s face somewhere before, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“I’m…okay. This just isn’t exactly what I imagined, if you know what I mean.”

He sat up. The pain had begun to fade from his body and his head was feeling a little clearer. The other man frowned.

“No, I don’t know what you mean.”

Joe chuckled softly. “You know, the whole afterlife, being dead thing? This isn’t what I pictured it would look like.”

“I…you’re not dead. I’m afraid you’re still very much alive.”

Joe looked at the man. “But I can’t be! I was shot in the chest! By Donald Trump! There’s no way I could have survived that!”

The man in the hoodie recoiled. “Trump? You’ve seen him? Recently?”

“Yeah, look buddy, this is a great conversation we’ve been having here, but if I’ve been freaking shot and I’m somehow still not dead, I have to be getting out of here to figure out what the fuck just happened.”

“Oh, of course, let me help you!” the man exclaimed, rushing to help Joe to his feet.

“Urckkk,” Joe whimpered, his legs buckling with pain.

“Here…I know a place where you can get help. I can take you there.”

Joe was hesitant to trust this person who he’d only just met and had picked him up off the street, but he didn’t see how he had much of a choice right now.

“Okay,” he said, and allowed himself to lean into the man in the hoodie as they began to slowly walk out of the alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no update, eh? Yeah, sorry, I've had a bit of a writers block until certain...events transpired that inspired me to pick this up again and think up new ways to humiliate Donald Trump.  
>  Obamney smut next chapter.


End file.
